


You taste like the fourth of July

by paranomasia



Series: "You can be the boss" series [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Consensual Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Stiles Is Seventeen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranomasia/pseuds/paranomasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a way, he could have anticipated this. There were only a limited amount of ways to deal with living in a world that was so much wider than most people knew. Chris coped by being a hunter - Stiles did by being prey. “Alright,” he interrupted Stiles’ rambling, and the boy immediately stopped talking, brows furrowing in confusion. “Come with me.” He repeated his earlier words, and this time, Stiles nodded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You taste like the fourth of July

“Stiles.”

“Chris.” Stiles gave him a polite nod from where he was leaning against the side of the bar, sipping a bright blue cocktail there was no way he was allowed to drink yet. It made Chris smirk and praise the lord that Allison wasn’t too keen on alcohol. He leaned over the bar to order a beer, noticing Stiles’ eyes catching on the waistband of his trousers. Ah.

“Not armed?” The boy asked, after downing the rest of his drink. Chris suppressed the urge to scoff at the question - he was always armed, even if it was only with his hands.

“Not looking for trouble,” he replied, as he accepted the beer and handed the bartender the appropriate amount of change. The bottle was a touch of ice against his skin, sending goosebumps up his arms, and he shivered in pleasure when he put the rim of the bottle at his lips , taking a large swig. “What are you doing here?”

The kid beamed at him, a grin lighting up his features in a way that made him look even younger. “Looking for trouble.” A bartender put down another neon bright drink in front of Stiles, this time complete with a red straw and tiny tropical umbrella, and  Chris felt as if he had landed in some alternate universe . It was strange, seeing Stiles in any other light than the human sidekick, flailing around to save those he cared about - but there was no  trace of the uncoordinated youngster here.

 

“You’re sure to find it if you keep drinking like that,” Chris remarked when Stiles eagerly drew the straw into his mouth and sucked on it as if his life depended on the action. Chris found himself staring at the way Stiles’ plush lips wrapped around the straw, his cheeks hollowing and his eyes sliding shut in obvious enjoyment of the drink. It was obscene enough that Chris couldn’t tear his eyes away from Stiles’ mouth, and he tightened the grip on his own drink, suppressing the urge to tighten his hands around something else. Not the time, not the place, and definitely not the person Chris should be thinking about doing terrible things with. It was difficult to tell himself that when the kid looked like he did, but that was what he was. _Just a kid_ \- and Chris didn't want to  slide any further down the morally ambiguous slippery slope than he already had. Except he actually really wanted to. “Your father would throw a fit if he knew you were out here.”

 

Stiles’ head snapped up and Chris’ eyes lingered on the drop of alcohol hanging from his bottom lip. It would be easy to reach out, wipe his thumb over the soft flesh, push inside Stiles’ mouth and feel what it’d be like to have him suck on that instead of that ridiculous straw. He didn’t. Stiles’ expression changed from surprise to an unamused smirk. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.” 

 

Chris could see that Stiles' reply remarked upon so much more than the drinking or hanging out at shady bars. Stiles was talking about everything that was happening in his life on an almost everyday basis. Sheriff Stilinski had no idea his boy  ran with the things that go bump in the night. Had no clue that the lies Stiles tells him aren’t about girlfriends and cheating on tests, but about him being the bait in some fucked-up fairytale.

 

“And you won’t tell him,” Stiles continued, voice certain and controlled, and Chris knew that if he would reach over and press his fingers to Stiles' pulse point it’d be as level as the heartbeat of a kid on prescription drugs could ever be.

 

Chris gave him the warm and charming smile he always used on strangers and Stiles’ posture grew instantly more relaxed, smile back on his face. Easy. So very easy. Chris decided to just roll with it. “Of course I won’t. As long as you’ll allow me to buy you a drink.” No one here would glance at him twice for flirting with a teenager - this kind of bar was meant for less than kosher conversations and agreements.

 

Stiles’ eyebrows rose, and then he threw his head back and laughed, hearty and amused and _loud_. “You don’t have to. Bert’s got me covered,” he said nodding his head in the direction of the bartender, grinning happily. “But I do appreciate the gesture.”

 

“Bert,” Chris repeated, glancing towards the man behind the bar who was throwing easy smiles at his costumers. He found himself wondering what Stiles had done to be provided with free drinks all night and decided almost immediately that he didn’t want to know. It was one thing to think about flirting with the kid, but another to imagine him putting that obscene mouth to another use than talking everyone’s ears off. “I see.”

 

“Do you now?” Stiles purred, as he put down his glass, and slid closer to Chris, fluttering his eyelashes at him. “I can practically see your mind running at top-speed.” 

 

He lifted his arm and tapped against Chris’ forehead, all pretence of personal space gone. Chris’ breath hitched at the touch. Stiles must have noticed because he grinned widely and moved to cup Chris’ cheek, running his thumb over Chris’ cheekbone, a motion too practiced to be genuine, and when Chris blinked he could see past the confident façade, catch a glimpse of the child Stiles was still supposed to be. He grabbed Stiles’ wrist and twisted it hard enough that it would sting, but not that anyone else would notice he wasn’t just pulling him closer.

 

“Does your _Alpha_ know you’re out seducing men twice your age the next town over?” He put a mocking emphasis on the word, fuelled the fire underneath the doubt that must be constantly burning in Stiles’ mind. Humans were never really pack in Chris’ opinion, and he could see in Stiles’ eyes, that the kid shared his vision, the words having hit a sore spot. His grin faltered, but returned at full-power only a split second later. It wouldn’t have been obvious to anyone else, but Chris was trained to spot the tiny differences, the twitch of fingers, the tensing of muscles. 

 

“My _Alpha_ doesn’t actually care enough to know where I reside.” He rolled his eyes, a dramatic act to cover up for the way his fingers tightened around his glass. “And even if he would want to know, Peter’s got me covered.”

 

Chris smirked. Of course the older beast would be the one to support Stiles in his quest for trouble. “And what does Scott think of you doing this?” Chris asked, tilting his head to the side and suppressing the smile he felt creeping up on his face when Stiles’ expression flickered again and those large eyes narrowed. He decided to push a little further, to see how far he could push before Stiles would crack. “He’s been spending a lot of time with Lahey, hasn't he? That must be quite hurtful, being dumped by your best friend just like that.” This time he allowed the smile to break through, showed Stiles his teeth. It was easy to get t the kid, too easy for his usual tastes - but for some reason he couldn’t immediately pin down, Stiles made for a surprisingly interesting distraction. For a second he thought Stiles would punch him, but then the boy mirrored his grin and took a step back, away from Chris. 

 

“Nice,” he said, slapping his hand down on the bar to catch the bartender’s attention. “Below the belt, even for you, but nice.” When Bert turned towards Stiles with another drink and a shy smile, Stiles stood on the tips of his toes, catching the fabric of Bert’s shirt between his fingers, and pulled him close enough to press a chaste kiss on his lips, muttering something Chris couldn’t understand but that made colour creep up on the man’s cheeks. When Stiles let go of the man’s shirt, he smiled and gave Chris a sideways glance before turning his back towards him, obviously intending to not give him any more attention tonight.

 

Chris leant back against the bar and took another sip from his rapidly warming beer. He frowned slightly, annoyed that the initial freshness was gone, leaving behind only the bitter aftertaste. You could almost call it a metaphor for life, but Chris wasn’t inclined to let his mind wander down that lane. So he turned his attention back to Stiles, watched as the boy looked around the bar, practically radiating disappointment when no one seemed interested in approaching him. Chris let out a snort and shook his head in vague amusement. He finished his beer and pushed himself away from the bar, brushing against Stiles’ shoulder as he made his way to the restroom. There were several couples making out near the toilets, and Chris suppressed the urge to gag at the sight. Picking up someone for quick fuck was fine, but he would never understand their ability to get it on when surrounded by the stench of urine.

 

He quickly finished his business, trying to hold his breath as long as possible so he wouldn’t have to be confronted with the smell too much. He was washing his hands when a familiar laugh reached his ears. He looked to the side and indeed he could see a very familiar pair of shoes underneath the door of one of the  stalls . His stomach flipped as his brain processed the information, the sounds coming from the cubicle telling enough. The shoes moved, a step to the side, back again, another laugh and then the unmistakable clinking of a belt being unbuckled. Chris swallowed the bile that rose up in his throat when the legs folded to the floor, worn sneakers being used as a pillow for the owner of the shoes - for _Stiles_ \- to sit on.

Part of Chris wanted to walk out of there, ignore what he had seen and carry on with his evening. The other part wanted to break off the door and drag Stiles out of there. But it was Stiles’ decision to come here, to give some random guy a blow job in the middle of a disgusting restroom, and Chris had no valid reason to take away what he was looking for, however revolting a thought it might be. There came a stifled moan from inside the cubicle, followed by a whimper and a gagging sound that made Chris’ stomach flip once again. He ran a hand over his face, glancing around to see if no one else was around before making a decision and walking towards the cubicle, banging a fist on the door. “Stiles?”

 

Someone cursed, and then grew silent, before saying, voice tinged with amusement that made Chris see red around the edges of his vision. “He’s a bit occupied at the moment. Aren’t  you , kiddo?”

 

There was a choked off cry, and Chris took a deep breath, digging his nails in his palm. The rush of mixed emotions made him dizzy, and he wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or concern that drove him to his next action.

 

“You better get your hands of my son,” He said, voice a low growl to hide the tremor that would give away his lie, “or I might decide to castrate you before I call the cops.”

 

His words were followed by a stunned silence, and then there was a lot of scuffling and cursing, before Stiles got pulled to his feet. The door was thrown open barely half a minute later, revealing some middle-aged guy with the bushiest eyebrows Chris had ever seen, and a very  disheveled -looking Stiles.

 

“I didn’t know he was underage.” The man immediately said, but snapped his mouth shut when Chris glared at him.

 

“You better leave.” He said, voice as cold as he could manage, and the man bolted, probably scarred for life.

 

“You had no right to do that.” Stiles said, when the door of the restroom shut behind the man. His voice was hoarse, and when Chris turned towards him, his face was flushed, either from embarrassment or anger, he didn’t know. He didn’t really care either. So he just raised an eyebrow, and watched as Stiles expression darkened, voice trembling when he spoke again. “You’re gonna do that to any guy I want to pick up tonight?”

 

“They’re disgusting.” Chris said, tightly, and Stiles’ laugh echoed against the walls.

 

“How are you any better than any of them?” He demanded, finger digging in Chris’ chest, voice growing more and more hysteric with every word. “The honourable Chris Argent, picking up a cheap fuck in a dark bar? Most likely also someone underage because it’s _that. Kind. Of. Bar._ ” He emphasised every word with another stab to Chris’ chest, until Chris wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ wrist and pulled it away. 

 

It was harsher than he intended, and he was about to feel guilty when he noticed the way Stiles’ pupils blew when he looked at where Chris’ fingers were digging in his arm. When he looked up at met Chris’ eyes, he looked slightly embarrassed, the tips of his ears glowing bright pink in the white light of the restroom. The door opened, and an obviously very intoxicated man - boy, he couldn’t be older than Stiles - stumbled in, giving them a curious look. So Chris tightened his grip on Stiles’ arm and pulled him along, out of the bathroom. He dragged him to a darker part of the bar, and only let go when Stiles had his back against the wall, Chris almost pressed against his front. Stiles didn’t look embarrassed anymore, but intrigued, eyes glancing over Chris’ face in something closely resembling awe. 

 

“Come with me,” Chris muttered. He was close enough to Stiles that he could smell the alcohol on the kid’s breath, the cheap cologne that was supposed to smell expensive, and the sweat so typical for a teenage boy. It was dizzying, a perfect mix to entertain Chris’ sensitive nose.

 

Stiles chuckled and shook his head, an amused expression on his face. “I’m a man with a mission, Chris. I won’t leave until I get what I came for.”

 

Chris placed a tentative hand on Stiles’ hip, slipping fingers underneath his shirt and stroking the soft skin with his thumb - a mirror of the way Stiles had touched his face earlier that evening. “Then let me give you what you came for.”

 

“You can’t give me what I want,” Stiles muttered, hands fisting in the fabric of Chris’s button-down, glancing up from underneath his lashes. 

 

Chris was a horrible human being for even trying this. He pushed away those thoughts in favour of mouthing at the skin of Stiles’ neck, biting down softly at the pulse point. “I think you would be surprised at what I can give you.”

 

Stiles let out a gasp, and it was the most delicious sound. Chris could feel the vibrations when Stiles spoke again, voice trembling slightly. “I would want you to hurt me.”

 

Chris stiffened, his body refusing to keep moving while his mind provided him with a blur of images those words unlocked in his brain, and it was all he could do to suppress a groan. Stiles seemed to misinterpret his reaction though, because he chuckled and untangled himself from Chris’ body, taking a small step back. He crossed his arms, a familiar defensive posture that made it clear he regretted ever admitting what he was looking for. “I do appreciate your offer and I’m really flattered, man, but as I said, you can’t give me what I want. Which I totally respect, and I do hope you’ll be able to forget that I ever told you this because it might be awkward to deal with it later, so… ”

 

Chris gave the boy in front of him a speculative look. In a way, he could have anticipated this. There were only a limited amount of ways to deal with living in a world that was so much wider than most people knew. Chris coped by being a hunter - Stiles did by being prey. And he was the most tempting prey, standing there, lips swollen and red, eyes glazed slightly from the alcohol, and Chris knew there really wasn’t any turning back from here. So he could just as well move forward, couldn’t he? He licked his lips and tilted his head to the side. “Alright,” he interrupted Stiles’ rambling, and the boy immediately stopped talking, brows furrowing in confusion.

 

“What?”

 

“What, _sir_ ,” Chris corrected him, and he could pinpoint the exact moment the dots connected in Stiles’ mind. His eyes widened, mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. Chris could imagine those lips stretched around him, tears clinging to Stiles’ eyelashes, cheeks flushed as he tried to breathe, and he felt his own mouth start to water. He wanted it - at least as much as Stiles wanted it. Needed it. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Stiles lunged forward, cupped Chris’ face in his hands and kissed him, licking his way into Chris’ mouth. It was desperate and inexperienced, and Chris humoured him for a while, let the boy take what he wanted, until he’d had enough. The he bit down on Stiles’ bottom lip, hard enough he could taste copper on his tongue. The sound Stiles let out was a thing of beauty, and Chris smirked against his mouth. “Come with me.” He repeated his earlier words, and this time, Stiles nodded, running his tongue over the spot on his lip where Chris broke the skin.

 

* * *

 

“Get in the car.”

 

Stiles grinned, threw open the door and all but threw himself in the front seat of the Mercedes. “Sweet ride.” Chris felt a pang of annoyance at the way Stiles’ feet left tracks all over the interior as he moved around to find a comfortable seating position, but he didn’t make a remark. After all, it might be the last time in a while Stiles could sit comfortably. The thought brought a smile to his face as he buckled himself in.

 

“Not as sweet as you, though,” Stiles continued, reaching behind him and buckling his seat belt. His voice higher than it was before, his mature front slipping slightly, flashes of his usual flailing self showing through. “You’re a real piece of candy. Eye-candy. MAN-candy.”

 

Chris rolled his eyes as he started the car. “Shut up, Stiles.”

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

It was as easy as that. A simple word from Stiles’ mouth and the entire world seemed brighter, colours more intense. Chris felt like his insides were shifting, until he got in the same mindset he did when he was on a hunt, or training. It wasn't often that he got to let go of his civilised exterior outside of restricted situations, and it was exhilarating. Stiles seemed to pick up on the sudden tension in the air, because he took in a shuddering breath, and crossed his legs, the tight fabric of his jeans tenting at the crotch.

Chris forced himself to focus on the road. It wouldn’t do to crash the car because he couldn’t control his own urges. “We need to discuss boundaries. And you need a safe word.”

 

Stiles didn’t answer immediately and when Chris glanced at him he had a calculating look on his face, chewing his bottom lip, seemingly lost in thought. But then he smiled, almost shyly, and his voice was soft and subdued, and so very un-Stiles-like when he said, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

 

“Jesus,” Chris breathed, and slammed the brakes just in time to stop for a red light. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, and goosebumps ran over his skin. “Yes. Speak up.”

 

“No cutting.” Stiles' face was turned back towards the window, the edge of his words tainted with a carefully faked boredom. “No burning, and no bruises  in places people can see. Hitting is fine. Scratching is fine. Everything else is fine, really. Wolfsbane.”

 

“Wolfsbane?” Chris couldn’t help the amusement that leaked into his voice. “Really?”

 

Stiles only shrugged.

 

“Look at me when I’m talking,” Chris snapped, and felt satisfaction course through his veins when Stiles shivered, turning his neck to look up at Chris through his lashes. Chris scowled at the sight, even though it sent a spike of heat to his lower regions. He was glad Stiles had put on his hoodie over his shirt - a red hoodie, the kid had a serious death wish - because the sight of him with the low v-neck would have been enough to make him park in the nearest parking lot and just have his way with him right there.

 

The light jumped to green and Chris pressed down on the gas.

 

“Isn’t Allison at home?” Stiles asked, a couple minutes later, when they drove onto the highway.

 

Chris let out a snort. “We’re not going back to Beacon Hills.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles sounded surprised, and must have realised, because he added, fake confidence dripping from his words again. “Of course not.” 

 

“You don’t actually do this often.” Chris stated, as they pulled up in front of a small hotel, and Stiles’ eyes flashed at him, a confused expression on his face.

 

“Yes, I do,” he said, but Chris wasn’t a fool. He could spot a lying man from a mile away, and Stiles wasn’t a very good liar. He should work on that. Maybe Chris could teach him. For now, Chris snarled, and moved into Stiles’ space, enjoying the scared reaction he got, enjoying the way Stiles’ eyes widened like a deer caught in the headlights. “Don’t lie to me.”

 

“I didn’t l…” Stiles started stubbornly, and Chris lashed out, hand connecting with Stiles’ cheek with a satisfying _crack_. The sound was loud in the otherwise quiet car, and Stiles let his head snap to the side, closing his eyes. Even in the dim lighting of Chris’ car, he could see the print of his hand on Stiles’ skin, a blush on his pale face.

 

“Try that again,” Chris said, flexing his fingers and giving Stiles a smile full of teeth.

 

“I don’t usually go with people,” Stiles murmured, as he turned his face back to Chris, keeping his eyes downcast. Not making eye contact. The insinuation made Chris rock hard. The acceptance of him being a threat. Superior. Strong.

 

“Then why did you go with me?”

 

Stiles shrugged again, and Chris growled in annoyance, hand clenching in a fist, itching to hit the kid again. “Stiles.”

 

The boy glanced down at his hand, before he looked up, a question in his eyes. “Because I trust you?”

 

“If there’s one thing you should’ve picked up from Derek, it’s to not trust anyone.” Chris let his hand relax, placed it on top of Stiles’ leg. The boy stiffened, but when Chris squeezed his knee, he sunk back in the seat, expression relaxing. He gave Chris a shy smile, face lighting up again.

 

“I **do** trust you.”

 

Chris returned the smile. “Good.”

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take long for Chris to get them a room for the night, the young woman at the check-in barely giving them a glance when she handed Chris a key card. “Check out is at ten.”

 

Chris gave her a smile for good measure, but she was already focused on her phone again, pink nails tapping away at the screen. Chris placed his hand on the low of Stiles’ back, gently leading him through the hallway towards their room. The kid was trembling, Chris noticed, but he didn’t say anything about it until they were inside the room and the door locked itself behind them. He shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the back of the door as he surveyed the room. Bed. Dresser. Small bathroom. It was as bland a room as Chris ever saw, and it was perfectly suited for their needs, not too much distractions for Stiles to focus on. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he realised how quiet the kid was, not making any snarky remarks. He was still standing at the door, arms crossed over his chest, his entire  posture strangely stiff for someone who had been excited only ten minutes before. Stiles’ eyes were fixed on the bed, but he glanced up when he felt Chris’ gaze on him. He looked strangely out of place here, all wide eyes and gangly limbs trying to pose as something he wasn’t.

 

“It’s, uh, a nice room.” Stiles said, when the silence lasted, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “I’m digging the yellow. Very… Bright.”

 

Chris raised an eyebrow, and Stiles’ cheeks flushed for the second time that evening.

 

He vaguely motioned at the walls. “I mean, look at that. Like sunshine in a…”

 

“You don’t need to do this.” Chris interrupted him, not interested in the empty chatter. He took a step closer to Stiles, and when the kid didn’t shy away, reached out to run his hand over his arm. Stiles shivered in response, but didn’t speak, watching as Chris reached for the zipper of his hoodie and pulled it down.

 

“But you need to talk to me.” He let the hoodie fall open, let his hand find its way to Stiles’ hip, slipping underneath the fabric of his tee. “I don’t know what you want.”

 

Stiles took a shuddering breath, and Chris looked up from his hand to meet Stiles’ eyes. He didn’t look as lost anymore, the same burning look on his face as he had back at the bar, and then he smiled. The next thing he knew, Stiles was pressed against him, arms around Chris’ waist and his mouth on his neck, messily pressing kisses up his throat and jaw. “I want you. Jesus, Chris, I want you. Please do it.”

 

“Do what?” Chris asked, a quiet gasp on his lips when Stiles bit down on the sensitive skin of his throat. He could feel himself growing hard, cock interested again now that satisfaction was  within reach.

 

“Anything.” Stiles whined, moving to kiss Chris’ jaw. “Something.”

 

“That’s awfully vague.” Chris could practically feel the desperation coming of Stiles, but he wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t do anything until Stiles asked him to. 

 

Stiles groaned, and then sighed. “Fuck me. Hit me. Bite me. I don’t care, just stop the gentle bullshit. I don’t need it.”

 

That was all the consent Chris needed. He let out a chuckle that made Stiles look up at him, and he used the distraction to grab him by the back of his neck and slam him against the wall. Luckily for Stiles there weren’t much ornaments in the room, no paintings or printed pictures anywhere, so he was simply pressed against the bare, ugly yellow walls. “Ow.”

 

Chris tightened his grip on Stiles’ neck, pinching hard enough to get another wince from the kid. He used the hand that wasn’t holding Stiles to slap against the jeans clad thigh, and then cupped one cheek, squeezing. “You’re gonna take those off, alright?”

 

Stiles nodded, earning him another pinch in his neck. He let out a yelp and tried to turn his head. Chris didn’t let him. “Ow, what?”

 

“Answer me.”

 

Stiles was silent for a couple seconds, struggling against the firm grip on his neck, but then something seemed to click and he relaxed into the touch. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Good boy.” Chris let go of Stiles’ neck, allowing him to step back and shrug off his hoodie, before he reached for the button of his jeans. He hesitated for a second, but then swiftly unbuttoned it and pushed it down his hips, exposing his legs. He  wasn’t as skinny as Chris expected, lean muscles hidden underneath the fabric, flexing when he kick ed off his shoes, followed by his jeans, leaving him in just the v-neck and his boxers. Red - to match with his hoodie, or to match with the flush that was spreading over his neck and face. He looked awkward, but Chris could tell by the way his boxers  were tenting that his body  wasn’t half as shy as his mind. He let his eyes roam over Stiles’ legs, the hair  on them dark but thin, disappearing into his neat white socks. Chris almost laughed at that, but when he looked back up at Stiles’ face, he lost every intention of laughing. Stiles was biting his bottom lip, breathing heavily through his nose when Chris moved closer again. There wasn’t anything romantic about the way Chris cupped Stiles’ cock through his boxers, nothing gentle about how he ran his hand over Stiles’ length, eliciting moans from the teenager.

 

“Take of your shirt.” Chris ordered, and Stiles immediately obliged, the shirt being dropped on top of the other items of clothing. Chris smirked, and took one of Stiles’ nipples between his fingers. He gave it an experimental pinch, and could hardly suppress a moan of his own when Stiles’ eyes rolled back, the kid’s hips involuntarily bucking up in Chris’ touch. “Shit, Chris.”

 

Chris grinned, and removed his hand from Stiles’ cock, only to slip it inside his boxers a second later. Stiles gasped, his hand lashing out to clutch to the fabric of Chris’ shirt, and he let out a soft whine when Chris pinched his nipple again. “You’re so easy.”

 

Stiles didn’t answer, his grasp tightening when Chris started moving his hand again. “But you’re not allowed to come. Not until I tell you to. Got it?”

 

“Please…”

 

Chris shook his head, amusement and excitement fighting for equal attention in his brain. It had to be torture for the kid, who had been walking on edge of arousal for most of the night, and he was sure it wouldn’t take too long for him to orgasm. And then the game could really begin. He pushed down Stiles’ boxers, and watched his cock jump back against his stomach. It was a beautiful sight, Chris thought, Stiles’ slack mouth, the flushed chest, one nipple swollen and slightly darker, the achingly hard cock leaving drops on pre-come on his stomach. Stiles muttered out a curse when Chris didn’t immediately proceed, but when Chris did wrap his hand around Stiles’ cock, it only took a couple jerks before Stiles’ hands tightened, his body starting to tremble.

 

“No, no, shit, Chris, I’m going to…” The rest of his sentence was muffled by Chris’ hand over his mouth. He gave the kid stern look, other hand repeating the same jerking motion over and over again, until Stiles sobbed against his palm.

 

“Don’t you dare.” Chris warned, but Stiles closed his eyes in defeat, and a second later Chris felt the familiar wetness dribble over his hand. Stiles muffled moan was music to Chris’ ears, even more when the kid’s eyes shot open again and met Chris’, guilt radiating from his face.

 

Chris all but threw Stiles on the bed, face down, and pinned him with his knee on the small of his back. He twisted Stiles’ wrists behind him and pushed them high enough up Stiles’ back to make the boy arch up to relieve the burn in his muscles. He could hear Stiles’ whimpers, muffled by the covers and pushed harder until he got a loud cry. “What did I tell you?”

 

Stiles whimpered again, and Chris dug his knee in, tasted the sound of Stiles’ discomfort on his tongue like a fine wine. “I couldn’t help it.”

 

“Answer my question, boy.”

 

“ Not to come? ! I’m sorry, I couldn’t…”

 

Chris bared his teeth, a predatory smile, even though Stiles couldn’t see it. “Didn’t I tell you there would be consequences?”

 

Stiles didn’t answer, which was so out of character Chris found himself frowning in involuntary concern, loosening his hold on the kid’s wrists and taking his knee off his back. “Stiles?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles croaked out, turning his head to glance over his shoulder. His eyes were more focused this time, tears brimming at the edges. “Yeah, you did.”

 

“You’re allowed to use the safe word,” Chris reminded him, gently running his hand over Stiles’ back, resting over the bruise that was already forming on the back of Stiles’ neck. He didn’t want to cross Stiles’ line when they were crossing pretty much every other line in existence already.

 

“I don’t want to use the safe word,” his voice was small, but accompanied by a quiet laugh, and Chris felt the worry fade away as he slipped back in his persona.

 

“Good. Because we've hardly even started yet. Get on your knees.”

 

He moved back completely so Stiles could crawl up, glancing over his shoulder at Chris. His eyes were clear again, no trace of distress on his face anymore, replaced by a burning want and curiosity. Chris wanted to see how many emotions he could pull out of Stiles before the night was over. Wanted to see them cross over Stiles’ features like a blockbuster movie.

 

“Grab hold of the headboard,” Chris ordered, getting up from the bed and unbuckling his belt while Stiles did as he was told, wrapped his fingers around the dark wood, keeping still. Chris pulled the belt out of the loops of his jeans in a smooth motion, and smiled when he saw Stiles flinch, glancing over his shoulder to see what was going on. Chris immediately shot forward to tangle his fingers in Stiles’ hair, turning his head, and snarled. “Eyes in front of you.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Chris shivered, the words making his cock strain against the fabric of his jeans. He doubled the belt in his hand, and let it rest against Stiles’ ass, tapped the leather against the unmarked skin. “I want you to count for me.”

 

Stiles made a choked off sound, head dropping down, and Chris smiled as he raised the belt.

 

To Stiles’ credit, he didn’t scream. In fact, he did hardly make any sounds, other than counting the lashes Chris gave him. Chris allowed himself to really get into it, bringing down the belt with as much force as he would when interrogating someone, letting the belt curl and twist on Stiles’ thighs. He kept going until Stiles’ words were slurred by tears, sobs being wrecked out of his body with every strike. Chris threw the belt aside then, crawled back on the bed and placed his hands on Stiles hips, digging his fingers in as he licked a stripe across the burning skin of Stiles’ ass. He ran his tongue over the raised welts and places where the leather broke the skin, and a groan escaped him at the taste of sweat mixed with tiny droplets of blood. Stiles looked back then, eyes glazed over and pupils blown as he met Chris’ gaze, looking for any sign of approval, confirmation he did well.

 

“Good boy,” Chris muttered, sliding his hands down to cup the firm cheeks, squeezing the abused flesh. He grinned at the whine that got him. “We do need to talk about you joining our side. You’d make a terrific hunter. I, for one, would be honoured to train you.”

 

“No talking business during pleasure, Chris,” Stiles said, voice hoarse. Probably because he’d been suppressing his screams, but the shy smile on his face showed his pride and contentment and Chris answered it with a grin full of teeth.

 

“You need a break?” He asked, when Stiles flopped down on his stomach, face buried in one of the pillows. Stiles shook his head, but didn’t move. Chris calmly adjusted himself in his pants, and then crawled forward, on top of Stiles. The kid winced when he came into contact with his sore behind, but when Chris dug the heels of his hands into the muscles of Stiles’ shoulders, it quickly changed to a sigh of pleasure.

 

“Maybe a short break.” He mumbled, and Chris would have missed it if he wasn’t listening intently. He moved his hands down Stiles’ spine, loosening the knots that were spread all over the muscles of his back. It wasn’t long before Stiles was moaning non-stop, almost humping the mattress every time Chris dug in his fingers.

“Fuck. Fuck me, Chris, please fuck me.”

 

Finally, Chris obliged.

 

* * *

 

It was almost a surprise how comfortable it felt when they finished cleaning up, and crawled under the covers together. Stiles eagerly pressed himself against Chris, pressing kisses all over his face and neck before he lay down, face relaxed and content when he let out a happy sigh.

 

“So good.” Chris purred, and he ran his hand over Stiles’ back, pressed his lips against the boy’s forehead. “You were so good, Stiles.”

 

Stiles only hummed, eyes closed and mouth hanging slightly open. His breathing had slowed down, the tears had dried, and he’d managed to finish the bottle of water Chris had taken from the minibar. He snuggled closer to Chris, their legs tangling together underneath the blankets. It sent a pang of nostalgia through Chris, but he pushed it away before he could think too much about it. It wouldn’t do to attach emotional links to this thing he had with Stiles. That would only further complicate their future interactions. Yet he couldn’t help feeling more relaxed than he had in months, perhaps even since after the death of his wife.  

 

“I don’t usually do this.”

 

“Beat people beyond coherence? Or the sex part?”

 

Chris snorted, and pulled Stiles closer, until Stiles’ head was resting against Chris’ shoulder. “Both.”

 

Stiles giggled and pressed a kiss on Chris’ collarbone, nuzzling the man’s neck. “I feel special.”

 

Chris couldn’t help the small smile that passed over his lips as he ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair, fingertips resting on the nape of his neck. “You are something special alright.” He allowed Stiles to place a hand on his chest, splaying his fingers wide over Chris’ heart, tapping his thumb against the skin in the same rhythm as his heartbeat.

 

“I am a delight,” Stiles agreed, before he then settled down. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, hand falling down, limply lying between their bodies. Chris didn’t manage to fall asleep quite as easily, the darkness not as comforting as it was suffocating. The light of the streetlamp outside their room cast just enough of a glow that Chris could see the relaxed expression on Stiles’ face, the way sleep had taken away all his sharp edges and left him with nothing but Stiles’ bare youth staring him down. It was almost unthinkable that only an hour before he’d been begging and moaning out obscenities so creative Chris couldn’t help but wonder where he’d picked them up. He felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of what had happened between them and swallowed harshly to keep himself from gagging. He might have saved  L ittle Red from the wolves, but the kid still got eaten in bed. Not a very happy ending either way.

 

_Fuck_. He very carefully slid out of the bed, and pulled on his jeans without bothering for underwear. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table and rolled his eyes. It was four in the morning, and he needed a goddamn smoke.

 

* * *

 

“I thought you left.” Stiles’ voice was low, hoarse with sleep and apparently distress at being left alone. It shouldn’t be as alluring as it was, the sight of him tangled up in the blankets, sleepy eyes looking up at him underneath those long lashes.

 

“I just went to get breakfast,”  Chris said, placing the bags on the small table in the room. “You drink coffee?”

 

“Fuck yes,” Stiles slowly stretched, the blankets shifting around and down his body to reveal several bruises down Stiles’ back. Chris must have breathed in a harsh gasp, because Stiles frowned and tried to look over his shoulder. “Ugh, I’m a mess.”

 

Chris didn’t answer, instead he turned his attention towards the bags with breakfast. He tried to take out the takeaway cups of coffee, but his hands were shaking. His vision focused and unfocused as he looked at the cheap plastic lid on the cups. He was torn between wanting to be aroused by the way he had marked the kid, and wanting to tear  himself apart in guilt for letting himself go like that. It was wrong, so terribly wrong, and yet…

 

“Hey,” Stiles was suddenly next to him and when Chris’ eyes focused on him, he was frowning. “Are you okay?”

 

“Are you?” Chris shot back, and immediately Stiles’ expression smoothened out, eyes wide and understanding. Chris hated it so much.

 

“You’re feeling guilty.”

 

“Of course not,” he shook his head, managed to clear his mind enough to smile and hand Stiles his coffee. “You’re only getting it black. I’m driving you back and I won’t have you jitter away in my car.”

 

Stiles didn’t say anything as he accepted the coffee, but there was something in his eyes that made Chris think he might actually understand. If only a little.

 

* * *

 

“You can drop me off downtown,” Stiles said when Chris started to turn into the road that led to Stiles’ house. He had been tapping his fingers anxiously against his knee for the last ten minutes, checking his cellphone every other minute.

 

“What’s downtown?” Chris asked, but turned his car in the other direction, deciding to drive in from the other side of Beacon Hills, where less people would recognize his car.

 

“Nothing,” Stiles answered, but Chris could tell it was a lie by the way Stiles tilted his head to the side.

 

“Stiles…”

 

“No.” The phone in his hand started vibrating, and Stiles quickly answered it, pressing the phone against his ear. “I’m on my way.”

 

There was a murmur from the other side, and Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t call him, did you? I texted I was going to be a bit late. I’ll be there in…” he glanced at Chris, who shrugged and showed four fingers. “In about five minutes. I just need a quick shower.”

 

“Where?” Chris asked, and suddenly the person on the other hand grew silent, before spewing a series of words that had Stiles groan and run a hand over his face.

 

“Yes, that’s Chris. No, he’s not trying to kill me any more than you are. No. No! Bye, Peter,” he clicked off the conversation and sighed. Chris glanced to the side, letting his eyes roam over the bridge of Stiles nose, down to his lips that were quirked down in a scowl.

 

“Peter. I’m going to assume Hale,” he said conversationally, eliciting a snort from Stiles who sank even lower in his seat. “You want me to drop you off at Peter’s place? I’m not sure that’s a good…”

 

“Don’t even bother finishing that sentence,” Stiles snapped, glaring holes in Chris’ side. Chris suppressed the annoyance bubbling in his stomach, keeping his eyes on the road. “You don’t get to decide what I do.”

 

“I’m trying to protect you,” Chris answered, between gritted teeth. Stiles just laughed.

 

“Bullshit,” he turned to look outside, and after another minute said, “You can let me out here. I’m sure Peter won’t like me showing you where he lives.” He unbuckled his seat belt, before looking up to meet Chris’ gaze with a grin. “I know you’re perfectly  capable of figuring it out yourself.”

 

Chris snorted, and stopped the car at the corner of the street. “Be careful.”

 

“Yes, honey,” Stiles answered, and leant over to press a quick kiss against Chris’ lips. Chris leant back instinctively, and Stiles laughed again, opening the door. “Bye, Mister Argent. This has been fun.”

 

Before Chris could say anything else, Stiles had hopped out of the car and was sauntering off down the street. He twirled around, waved at Chris, and then turned into the driveway of a large flat building, disappearing from sight. It was only when he arrived back at home and was taking his bag out of the car that he noticed the piece of dark red fabric tucked underneath the passenger seat. He pulled it and after a horrified second, recognised them as the boxers Stiles had worn the night before. His mouth dropped as he stared at the boxers, certain it would be absolutely impossible to forget about what had happened the night before.

 

The biggest problem was that he actually didn’t want to.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'You can be the boss' by Lana del Rey. The song screamed Christiles to me and then well, 7000 words of it happened. Holy cow you don't know how long this took me and how much I sobbed about it and I'M JUST REALLY PROUD THIS IS MY BABY. Slightly fucked up baby. Oh well, tough shit.
> 
> All the gratitude to [Mar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm), [Blecca](http://archiveofourown.org/users/decaffeinate_o/pseuds/derekfistingstiles) and [Bethany](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TriggerTinks/pseuds/TriggerTinks) for helping me fix mistakes, typos, errors, point out my ridiculous sentences and listened to me whine and cry when I got stuck and wanted to dump this project.
> 
> Come talk to me on [TUMBLR](http://pocketstilinski.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave kudos/reviews/messages. I'm gonna get myself a drink now. I need it.


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